


The Boys Who Waited

by lurknomoar



Series: Bits and Pieces and Older Writings [7]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Historically accurate bad things, Mention of imperialism, Mention of plague, Multi, mention of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-13 03:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21237173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurknomoar/pseuds/lurknomoar
Summary: The wizard named Merlin meets a mysterious immortal centurion. Both men are keeping vigil, waiting for something, waiting for someone, living through an age of the world with their true love lost in the mists of the past, in the lights of the future. But at least they aren't waiting alone.





	The Boys Who Waited

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to use "The Slow Path" as a title, but do you know how many DW and even Merlin fics are out there with the same title? Tons!

Their story begins just a few lifetimes after Arthur’s death – during his travels up and down the island of Britain, Merlin comes across this strange, strange man. The villagers talk about him all the way across the fens at the Thames delta – they say he wears the garb of the old Roman invaders, but speaks proper English just like everyone else. They say he guards a strange stone prison with his life, and seems to have no need of sleep or sustenance. They say he is rather accomplished in the art of healing, and will set a bone or lance a boil free of charge. He seems kind, yet perilous.

Merlin decides to check out this strange creature, suspecting there’s magic involved – he’s rather surprised when he finds the man completely unmagical, and at the same time, older than even Merlin is.

They talk, and they cautiously reveal some of their secrets – they are both immortal men, waiting for something, someone. Merlin waits for the time when England’s need is grave enough to merit the return of the Once and Future King, and the Centurion, the man calling himself Rory waits too – waits for whatever he’s waiting for. They meet up every decade or so, drinking ale, talking about nothing and everything, two immortal almost-friends in a world of short-lived strangers.

The Vikings come, England is in need, and Arthur does not appear. The Normans come, England is in need, and Arthur does not appear. Merlin is disgusted with himself for wishing for some even greater calamity, more fire more destruction more death, just so Arthur is finally forced to wake.

And then the calamity comes, the black plague spreads to England, people die in their hundreds, in their thousands, they die miserable and afraid, the dead are stacked high for burning and their ashes darken the sky, whenever there’s someone left to burn them and they aren’t simply left to rot, and Arthur still does not come. Merlin goes to visit Rory, the only man who might understand, tracks through plague-stricken towns to find him. They grieve together, Rory offers Merlin cheap grog and doesn’t drink himself, and Merlin finally tells Rory who he really is – and Rory explains he’s a mechanical man from the future, guarding the sleep of his one true dead love. They don’t really talk about that night, during the following century, but they know each other’s secrets, and that counts for a lot.

When the Civil War rolls around and finds Englishman killing Englishman, and still Arthur doesn’t appear, Rory quietly says – I think you should stop waiting. For something worse to happen, I mean. I’m almost certain something will, but I don’t know which tragedy will be the one to bring him back.

And then something else happens, a different sort of tragedy altogether: Britain grows powerful. Merlin knows enough about power to understand the temptation towards the most selfish sorts of evil, and the British Empire has enough power to twist once-good men into the murderers of thousands, and then pin a medal on them for good governorship. This danger doesn’t threaten the nation’s life, but its very soul – and Arthur sleeps on. Merlin works a decade in a coalmine, a decade in a textile factory, a decade as a sailor to see the meagre good and various evils his compatriots do, returning to have a drink with the Centurion every once in a while.

Eventually the city grows big enough and tall enough to swallow Rory whole – a museum is built around him. He doesn’t mind to be out of the weather, he says. But people don’t come to him for healing anymore, they come to gape, and he talks to them less and less.

Then the Great War comes, and by that time, Merlin has taken Rory’s advice: he has stopped waiting. The country is pouring the lives of young men into a senseless war, and Merlin doesn’t expect anyone to stop it. He goes to war instead, becomes a field medic, and does his best to save a handful of people. The world is screaming and burning and there’s no magic powerful enough to stop it, so in the end he’s proud to have gotten most of his boys safely home, alive for a brief life of strife and toil and joy.

And then the other war comes, even more enormous, even more evil. Bombs fall, cities burn, and Arthur sleeps. Merlin is quietly working away, helping people out of the ruins of Coventry when he hears about the Museum burning. By the time he gets there, the Centurion is gone – the stone prison remains. He pours a drink to toast his brother-in-vigil and his sleeping beloved, and gets back to work. There are years to go before the war is over.

A few decades later, the stars begin to go out. Rory has told him about that, one long grieving sleepless night back in the 1700s – that the stars will go out, and then hopefully they will return. Merlin lives to see the whole world blink out, flicker and come back on, and he’s quite certain he’s the only one who noticed – but this was a danger to the whole world, not to England. Let Arthur sleep.

The turn of the millennium passes, the sea levels are rising and the Earth’s riches are running out, some people starve and others gorge, love is strong in the world, but not always stronger than hatred. And one day, Merlin meets a young musician named Art who grew up in the council estates of London, who looks nothing like Arthur and feels everything like him, who wears his hair buzzed short and his tops sleeveless, showing the tattoo of a crown on his bicep – he’s young, gifted and black, he’s reckless but wise, arrogant but kind, and he has the will to change the world. Merlin knows it’s him the very second their eyes meet.

Two weeks later, they are walking home from a concert hand-in-hand, laughing breathlessly and already putting together the lyrics of a new song, a song about wresting power from water and stone, when Merlin glimpses a familiar face. It’s the Centurion, only this time he’s wearing hospital scrubs and a happy, if incredibly tired smile. On his arm is a woman long red hair and a very short skirt, looking just as happy and very, very alive. Merlin nods, the Centurion nods back, they both go their own way.

When Art asks, Merlin will say it was just an old friend.


End file.
